A New beginning
by Prophet Tiresias
Summary: Sometimes a person has truly fallen beyond redemption. Sometimes, the only path is to cast off oneself and begin anew.
1. prologue

N/A: A better summary, maybe, because I couldn't fit it past the character count.

The hero of the Mandalorian Wars returned from beyond the Outer Rim driven by a new and unknown purpose. But years of war, and something never meant to be seen can stain even the brightest of souls, and she and her purpose have become twisted. She is backed by an unstoppable war machine, and now the once Hero of the Republic brings destruction to all she sought to protect.

Sometimes a person has truly fallen beyond redemption. Sometimes, the only path is to cast off oneself and begin anew.

Prologue

Bastila stood in a medical observation room in the Jedi temple on Corisont. She stared down at a loan woman laid out in a bed, her dark brown hair fanned out on the pillow behind her. Her strikingly beautiful face was serene, and only the slight rise and fall of her chest belied the fact that she was indeed alive.

Bastila marveled at how much the woman's appearance had changed since she had first arrived. After her week long emersion in a Kalto tank, there was absolutely no trace of the ravishments that the dark side had wrought on the woman's body. Indeed, there was nothing to betray the fact that this woman was… Had Been the most feared and most ruthless woman in the galaxy. The angles of her face still held a few traces of the commanding visage that she had always wore in life, and defying explanation, even now, there was a presence, a feeling of power and personality that still seemed to emanate from the woman's body. These were all parts of what she had been, but the most important part, the parte that made her who she was, the mind, was gone. The body lying before her was little more than a husk. Empty. Sloughed off and left to rot. Even now, her life, if life it could even be called, was only being perpetuated by machines that continued managing those bodily functions vital for her survival. Ever since the fateful day when Bastila had saved her life on the bridge of her flag ship, her brain activity had been scrambled. All those higher brain functions that were responsible for sentient activity were completely nonexistent. Only the most primitive, most animalistic side remained. And even that was so chaotic that they dare not remove her from the machines.

Despite the grate evils this woman had perpetrated against the Republic, despite the billions whose blood stained her hands, directly or otherwise, Bastila found herself wishing that there was something more she could do to help the woman. It wasn't the Jedi way to kill their prisoners, and no one deserved death. Especially a death such as this. Over the last week Bastila had constantly checked on her, both in person and through use of the bond she had forged to save the woman's life, irrationally hoping to see an improvement in her condition. Even knowing that an improvement would most likely mean a return of such a malevolent person and her immediate trial and execution by the republic. Bastila now new that such hopes of improvement were ultimately feudal. The woman's condition was so severe that a week of being subjected to the most advanced medical technology and most powerful and Adept Force Healers in the order had yielded nothing. For this reason, the council had ordered that she be taken off life support, decreeing that it would be a mercy to grant the woman death rather than a slow wasting away. They were of course correct in their decision, but at the same time part of her felt that giving up now would be failing the woman. Bastila felt like she owed something to this woman now that she had saved her life, and she hated the idea of failure. After all. If she were to recover, couldn't she be redeemed? Surely the wisdom of the council could lead her back to the light. The order taught that no one was beyond redemption. No one. No matter how far the fall. Besides, this woman had once been a follower of the light. She had once been one of the most powerful and promising knights of the order. Surely, if anyone could be redeemed, then this woman could.

Bastila cut off her line of thought. The Council had ordered that she be taken off life support and she, as a padawan, must obey the Council's wisdom. She moved to a small control panel at the head of the bed and once again looked down at the woman who she had had, for some reason beyond her understanding, tried so very hard to save. Brusquely, she wiped a single tear running down her cheek and whispered.

"I'm sorry Revan. I tried." She then disengaged the life-support system. The instant that the machines ceased to override the confused commands from her brain, her body went into convulsions. The sloe rhythmic beat of the heart monitor became erratic. Speeding to an impossible rhythm, slowing to a near stop, and then back to a frenzied pace. Her limbs violently thrashed about, disturbing the order of the bed. The convulsions continued for several seconds before weakening and then stopping, the heart monitor flat lining. Revan's face once again relaxed into a vision of near Jedi like serenity, a vision that Bastila herself desperately fought to maintain. Bastila stood for several minutes more, feeling the already weak bond slowly wither. Bastila sagged, forced to brace herself against the bed as the bond finally snapped with a thunderous recoil that sent a tremor through Bastila. As it did, Bastila felt as if a small part of her spirit had been wrenched out of her leaving a void where the bond had once been. This to had been a factor in the Council's decision to take Revan off life-support. They feared that if the bond she had created with Revan were to have grown any stronger, severing it may have had an adverse effect on Bastila. A fear that Bastila now felt had been well founded. The place once filled by Revan in her mind was now a void, cold and empty.

Bastila took a deep breath, mentally repeating the Jedi code and centering herself. It was quite ridiculous to have feelings for the Sith lord who had brought so much suffering to the Republic. Even if she had recovered, she couldn't have been saved. The council had tried to guide her before she left to fight the Mandalorians and she had refused their wisdom then. Their was nothing to say she wouldn't do so again. She remembered back to the last time she had seen Revan alive on the bridge of her flag ship.

As Bastila and other Jedi in her strike teem dispatched the Dark Jedi guarding Revan, the solitary figure garbed in black robes stood unconcernedly watching her fleet out flank the forces of the Republic ambush, and crush the surviving ships like a nut in a vice. Weeks had been spent planning the ambush. The navy had committed a full three fleets to the Jedi Counsel's plan. The greatest number of ships ever used in a single engagement against Revan. Fully four times the number of Revans personal fleet.

Revan, true to her reputation had expected them and prepared a devastating counter. As the Republic's forces surrounded Revans small fleet they found themselves in tern surrounded by a fleet of Interdictor ships. Far more startling was the number of ships pouring out of hyper space only to flood past the Interdictors and slam into the Republic with the force of a Mandiloriean War Droid. What had started as a victory of numbers for the Republic turned into a literal blood bath as they found themselves now outnumbered nearly ten to one. The only hope of saving anything of the Republic's forces lay with the strike team. If they could capture Revan, perhaps they could order the Sith ships to stand down.

Before Bastila knew it, the last Dark Jedi fell before her yellow blade, and she was moving forward, the only two surviving Jedi fanning out to either side of her to confront the Dark Lord. Bastila felt as if she was a passive observer in her own body. Merely watching herself moving forward, igniting her light saber and dropping into a defensive stance. It was then that the full magnitude of what she was doing struck her. The shear amount of primal power that Revan controlled overwhelmed her as it rolled off the woman in title waves, threatening to wash her mind away in a flood of raw, unbridled power.

"You can't win Revan." Bastila was surprised at the strength she heard in her own words. Especially when she would like nothing more than to flee. Revan was too powerful. Three Jedi weren't enough to take someone who commanded such power in the force. What were the masters thinking, sending such a, by comparison, pitiful force against such a giant when the more obvious course would be to throw no less than five thermal detonators at the woman, and pray they did the job.

A deep throaty chuckle emanated from the black robed figure as she turned to face Bastila. The laugh sounded hollow, as if it were coming from a great distance from behind the menacing mask she wore. Even from behind the emotionless gaze of the mask's visor, she could feel Revan's cold eyes studying her. It felt as if Revan was dissecting her, seeming to measure and way every part of her with the greatest of care. The overwhelming amount of power held Bastila and her two companions as if they were caught in stasis. For all the power Bastila felt emanating from the woman, she was most afraid of something else that emanated from the intimidating figure. She had herd Masters speak of the taint of the Dark Side, but none of it had come close to describing the… Wrongness, that Bastila felt. It emanated from the woman before her, permeating the entire bridge, and disconcerting her senses. Almost as if something was slightly out of place. Something just out of focus, but she just couldn't put her finger on it. There was nothing oily, vile, or sickening about it, as Master Vrook had described it. It simply was. A presence in the background seeming to wisper. WRONG. DOESN'T BELONG. NOT WRIGHT. RUN. FLEE. WRONG. With an offhanded flick of her wrist, Revan sent a wall of energy in all directions. So great was the force, that it tore up deck plating to be carried along on the advancing front of destruction. Parting around Bastila, the unstoppable wall of debris and energy slammed into the two surviving knights with such force as to send them soaring across the length of the bridge. Bastila suppressed a shudder at the sound of their bodies hitting the far wall with resoundingly wet thuds. She didn't bother to look to see if they were safe. She had felt them become one with the Force as the wall of energy hit them. Revan smoothly drew her own light saber, twirling the blade and laughing before dropping into a defensive stance. Her laughter had been so clear. It sounded so natural, so pleased. Bastila's mind numbly wondered at what kind of creature could laugh after so casually killing two people. Her mind still numbed from seeing two of her team so easily snuffed from existence, she stood frozen at the woman's display of ruthlessness and casual use of such incredible power. She knew that the dark woman before her was only toying with her. She knew as surely as she knew that the woman had no wish to kill her, and that frightened her more than anything she had yet witnessed.

Bastila shook herself from her memories. Yes. It was better that something so evil and, utterly Wrong was gone from the galaxy. The counsel was correct in their decision to order her removed from life-support. But it wasn't a mercy to Revan, she doubted anything so evil could understand, much less deserve mercy. No, not a mercy to Revan, but a mercy to the galaxy. Once she had satisfied herself that she had once again regained control over her rather foolish emotions, she turned and left the room to report Revan's death to the Council. Stopping only briefly to dismiss the guards, and then continuing on her way. The Hospital's staff would handle the disposal of the body.

Revan floated in a state of conchisness not unlike being submerged in tides of murky water. Or at least what she thought being submerged in murky water would feel like. She was fully conchis but her perceptions were entirely seen through the force, muffled as if she was trying to hear something under water. Furthermore, it was a constant effort to keep herself together, as unseen currents tugged at her thoughts, threatening to spread the shapeless nothing that was her conchisness the force only knew where. She had a dim sense of her body lying in a soft bed, but it was disconnected, as if coming from a long distance. Almost as if being informed she was lying in a bed, rather than experiencing it firsthand. She was reflecting on the events that had left her stranded in this hell. She knew who was to blame of course. She was.

Oh, it may have been dear Bastila and her fellow Jedi who distracted her, and it may have been Malak who fired on her ship, nearly killing her. They may have been the ones through which the actions had been done, but ultimately it was her actions, or rather her inaction, that was the catalyst that had set it all into motion. Coming together in a final crescendo that she had not foreseen.

She couldn't blame Bastila. After all, she had practically come at her beckon call. She knew what the council's actions would be when she let slip where her not so lone and relatively defenseless fleet would be, knowing that the council would send Jedi to kill her. She also knew that they would send Bastila to use her Battle Meditation to get close to her. Exactly what she wanted them to do. The republic's use of, and near utter dependence on Bastila had been a thorn in her side for long enough. The thought that such pathetic weaklings would chain someone of such power into protecting them disgusted her, but not nearly so much as someone of such power allowing it. Truly Bastila had far to go before being considered a force in her own right, but she was the one who was great, not the incompetence pulling her strings.

By playing the council, not particularly hard to trick that group of fools, after all, It, had been doing it since before the Jedi were even formed, she had hoped to capture Bastila and lead her to the truth that the council was seemingly oblivious to. No. Bastila was most certainly not to blame. Revan had all but handed her a part to play, and dear Bastila had performed beautifully.

She couldn't even blame Malak for betraying her, or at least not entirely. True, she would take great pleasure in ending his worthless life when she recovered, but his actions were in keeping with the Sith way. A failing of the Sith, Just as the Jedi had theirs. However unlike the Jedi, they were a tool that had its uses. Yes the fault was most assuredly hers. She knew Malak was preparing to betray her. Not so soon, but she did know. She could have easily prevented all of this if she had simply listened to her instincts, and taken more than his jaw when he first showed sines of rebelling against her leadership when he had turned Telos into a mass grave. She had foolishly thought when the time came he would come at her like he came at all obstacles. Blindly, and with a club. If he had, she would have killed him, and that would have been that, but he showed a rare glimpse of brilliance that she had never thought him capable of, and here she was now.

Unfortunately, for Malak that is, he had failed to kill her, due largely in part to Bastila, something that she was surprised at. An unfortunate repercussion of Bastila saving her had left her in this limbo as her body slowly repaired itself. She was unsure if she was annoyed at Bastila for banishing her here, or if she should thank her for saving her so that she could continue her plans.

She was faintly aware of Bastila standing next to her body through the bond. When she had realized that Bastila's actions had forged a bond between them she had quickly taken measures to shield her mind from her, but also allow her to occasionally spy on Bastila's surface thoughts. It was possible to go deeper, something Revan did from time to time, but it had to be done carefully when Bastila slept, or else she ran the risk of being detected. From what she could glean from Bastila, they thought she was brain dead and for a brief time, the idea of programming another mind into her body was tossed around before thankfully being dropped. She shuddered at what the council would do if they knew she wasn't quite as dead as they had first suspected. It wouldn't do for Bastila to learn of her existence. Not yet at any rate.

When the time came, she would reveal herself. Once she was fully recovered she would take great pleasure in opening dear Bastila's eyes to the truth of the galaxy. She would show her what she had seen with her own eyes. Show her what hungrily waited out in the blackness. Show her how the Republic, Jedi, and countless civilizations of the past all danced to the strings of an unseen puppet master, and then she would see as she had that people could no longer live in the delusional manner that the Republic, Jedi, or even the Sith saw fit to force them into. Bastila would fall, as the masters liked to say, but that was not right. It was not to fall. Quite the opposite. It was to have one's eyes opened for the first time. To see the truth, to know how wrong things were, and see how they should be. It was freedom, it was to raise oneself. With some relatively minor but, unfortunately, unavoidably unpleasant deprogramming, Bastila would come to her, and she would do it gladly. Hopefully, now that she had the bond she could help Bastila see the truth of things without the traditional methods. She truly had no wish to hurt the girl. She had no wish to hurt anyone if she could help it, but they had to be sculpted… No… Forged , into a form that could withstand the truth that she had seen, whether they wished it or not. The girl had saved her life after all. Such loyalty was to be rewarded. No matter how unintentional it may have been. Even more than rewarding good deeds, the time spent getting to know Bastila through the bond had endeared her to Revan. She could see some of herself in the girl. Granted, it was buried under Jedi teachings, and even more to her dismay, had been stifled by that stuffy old fossil, Vrook. But none of this mattered. Given enough time, and a shovel, she was sure she could dig through all the trash to the true Bastila, not this Jedi manufactured porcelain princess, and set her free. Besides, she would make a truly worthy apprentice when she killed the cowered, Malack.

Revan was jarred from her plans by an urgent feeling from her body. It had gone into convulsions and was dying. Calmly revan began casting her senses out to learn the cause. She stopped when she pulled on the bond. She felt a confusion of emotions emanating from Bastila. Finding this strange coming from the poster girl of the Jedi, she followed the tangle of emotions back to the source and recoiled when she found it. The council had ordered her death. This wasn't write, she couldn't let this happen, but she already knew it was too late, Bastila, like a good little council drone, had already pulled the plug. Revan frantically cast about to find a way to stop this from happening. She tried to force her body to move, but failed to illicit so much as a wiggle of her big tow. She tried to use the force to reengage the life-support machines, but couldn't draw heavily enough on the force in her weakened state to do so. Desperately she began to take down the barriers that hid her presence from Bastila but stopped in dismay. It was too late. She didn't have enough time. In anguish, she let out a mental shriek, even knowing know one could hear her.

As her body underwent its final death throws, a deep blackness opened up under her. It was a curious thing. as there was no true culler, let alone definable direction in her limbo, it couldn't exist. And yet it was below her, and it was dark. She didn't know how she knew, she simply did.

Desperately she probed at the darkness, still looking for a way, any way to save her body. She couldn't die; she had plans that were unfinished. She… She could feel the darkness calling to her. It was faintly distant, on the edge of her mind, almost a sound, but not quite. Cautiously she moved closer to the blackness. As she drew nearer the calling became clearer. It was velvety soft and welcoming. It sang of passion. It sang of strength. of power. Of freedom. Most important was the power, so sweet she could taste it. She could feel it clearly. So much power. Enough to save herself. She continued probing at the darkness. Seeking to understand what it was. Seeking to use its power. Seeking to grasp it. Moving ever closer. Little by little Revan forgot her body as the siren call infected her, drawing her closer. She was now surrounded by the darkness, reveling in its intoxicating power. Power that she could use, that she would use. Power to crush the trader, to crush the foolish Jedi, to complete her mission and save them all. She now charged recklessly deeper into the darkness, craving still more. Faintly she could make out an even deeper darkness. It had no shape and could not be seen, and at the same time was so much darker then the surrounding darkness that it couldn't be missed.

The calling began to change. It grew cold and harsh, with a barely perceptible undercurrent of insatiable hunger. Revan stopped her advance; she could clearly see the void ahead. It opened wide, as if a hungry maw. It called to her still speaking of power, but no longer held any traces of welcome. It was hunger and darkness and aching loneliness. So dark. So lonely. It burned.

With a start Revan realized she had felt this before, when she journeyed beyond the Outer Rim. How could she have been so foolish! She was still moving closer to the void, it was drawing her in. She didn't like it, desperately she tried to back pedal. She turned to head away only to see the same void behind her. It seemed to be everywhere, pulling her in to the black hungering depths. Revan slowed her racing thoughts and attempted to wrestle her overwhelming fear back under control. She had no time or use for fear. She was Revan. Fear was a weakness that she would not yield to. Putting the ever lessening distance between herself and the void out of her mind, Revan when through a rapid list of resources she could draw upon. It was a short list, as all she could think of was her bond with Bastila. She reached for the bond but couldn't find it. She gave herself a mental kick. The bond would have broken when her body died.

Noting her still uncomfortably close proximity to the void she scrambled to find what remained of her side of the bond. If it hadn't been too long she may still have a chance. She found the still shriveling thread of her bond to bastila and began to pore herself into it, willing it to grow. Slowly, agonizingly so, the thread became a strand, then a string, finally it snapped taught connecting to a brilliant flair of light.

Revan would have let out a sigh if she couldn't feel the darkness starting to pool parts of her away, as if it were a Black Hole and she were only so much cosmic dust. Setting her sights on the beacon of Bastila

Revan clawed her way away from the void as fast as she could. To her dismay, the harder she struggled against the pull of the darkness, the stronger its pull became, until it felt as if it had physical hooks in her, tearing parts of her vary sol away as she struggled against them. She had to succeed. She had to live. She was Revan, Hero of the Republic, Dark Lord of the Sith. No force, physical or otherwise, could stand against her will. She had plans, a purpose, a mission. It was all that mattered. She had to get to Bastila if she was to live. She shuddered as another hook tore free with another part of her being. The pain was almost too much, but she had to continue. She was Revan. She had… She had something. Something important to continue. Bastila. More hooks tore away and she sobbed in pain. It hurt so much. She was… She was… She couldn't remember. The pain was too great. It wasn't important. She had… She had to get to the light, something to do. Had to get away from the darkness. Something important. It didn't feel right. Something about the light. Something she should remember. She cursed her forgetfulness. This wasn't like her, or... Or was it? Still more hooks tore free. The pain was so great she wanted to die. No. She needed to get to the light. Something important. It was so close. The darkness was scary. She didn't like it. It hurt her. Desperate to get away from the scary darkness she began casting off those parts of herself that the hooks had imbedded themselves in, sending them streaming into the darkness. Whatever it took to free her of the painful hooks. Whatever it took to get to the light. She was scared. The darkness scared her and was mean and painful and not right. Something important. Finally she reached the light. It flared in a brilliant flash of blinding blue, and Revan knew no more.

Bastila sat in her quarters, meditating on the events of the day when she felt a tenuous pull on her mind. Curious she reached out to search for some disturbance in the room but found none. As the pull grew in strength, she realized with a jolt of surprise that it was her bond with Revan. Abruptly it snapped back into place with a sharp tug on her mind. Caught off guard, Bastila was unprepared for the torrent of desperation, fear, and pain that flooded through the bond, slamming into her conchisness with the force of a head on speeder collision. Her body went ramrod straight, her gray eyes wide, as all the mussels in her body tensed with the overwhelming psychic strain. As the last of her mental barriers finally shattered, her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she collapsed in a heap on the Flore of her room.

30 minutes later

Revan's body still lay serenely in the bed of her room. Still waiting to be collected and disposed of when the heart monitor emitted a faint blip. Then a second stronger blip. Suddenly the woman's eyes snapped open revealing the reflective silvery sheen of mettle. She convulsed as she desperately gasped for a breath of fresh air. She abruptly shot up into a sitting position, still taking long and ragged breaths. Her mind was a torrent of confusing emotions and sensations. Fear, panic, cold, curiosity, and still more fear. As her breaths came more steadily and her hart began to slow, she wrapped her arms around her legs and began to rock. The motion had a soothing effect on her, calming her and warming her limbs. She sat like this for some time until her shivering subsided. Feeling her curiosity beginning to surpass her fear, she climbed rather unsteadily off the bed and stood. She glanced around the room and froze as she saw a figure standing in a corner. Warily she turned to regard it. The figure did likewise. The stranger was a woman. She wore simple loose fitting white coverings and had dark brown hair that fell to her shoulders. Her eyes were featureless silver orbs that seemed to regard her with piercing curiosity. She tilted her head and blinked as the other woman copied her. She moved closer to the stranger, and disconcertingly the other woman appeared to copy her without moving. She let out a grunt of curiosity at the stranger and was surprised to see the others lips move but with no sound. Tentatively she reached out to touch her, the other woman copying her exactly, but felt a cold surface between them. She felt a moment of loneliness pass over her as she realized she couldn't touch the other. This was washed away by annoyance that the other persisted in copying her. In an effort to force the other to stop, she proceeded to jump up and down, flailing her arms, the other mimicking her perfectly. Her annoyance turned to anger and she screamed at her. The other did the same in complete silence. In a fit of rage she lashed out with a fist to strike the other, only to jump back in both pain and surprise as the other shattered, cutting her hand.

The woman gingerly cradled her injured hand close to her chest waiting for the pain to pass. She was startled by a tinny mettle voice from behind her. With a startling burst of speed she spun to see another figure. Unlike the one that had hurt her hand, this one had round glowing eyes and reflected light off its silver skin. She instinctively fell into a crouch, slowly backing up. The fear that she had previously forgotten returning in a cascade. Her eyes darted around, frantically looking for a way to escape. It was no good. The only root of escape was the door, and the new other was blocking the way out. She didn't know what to do, this new other had done nothing but it frightened her.

"Excuse me miss. Are you all right?"The droid asked. The woman didn't understand the noises the new other was making. She could feel her fear building into full-fledged panic. She growled at the new other, hoping it would go away. The other seemed not to notice her growl. "I am afraid you are in a restricted area miss. If you will follow me, I will lead you back to the nearest unrestricted area." She didn't like this new other. It was scaring her, and it wouldn't stop making those strange noises. She was feeling an increasing need to escape. This new other was going to attract attention. Attention meant more others. She didn't know why but she didn't want to meet these others, but she couldn't go anywhere with this shiny other in her way.

Confused, the droid started toward her. "Miss. I'm sorry, but you must allow me to lead…" Startled by the new others advance; the woman lunged at the shiny other. The Droid fell over backwards. The impact jarred its internal workings, causing its photoreceptors to flicker. Before the droid could cry out, the woman leaped atop of it grabbing the head and repeatedly slammed it into the floor until the eyes went dim. She screamed at the shiny other one last time, then stood and bolted out the door.

Coriscant two hours later

The woman had escaped from the place with the others that frightened her and made her way down deep into the underbelly of Coriscant. She didn't understand it, but she had the feeling of being lead. When she was still in the scary place, there was something that seemed to be helping her. It told her when to hide, when people were coming, and which turns to make. She didn't understand it, but it felt as if she needed to be somewhere, and following this feeling was guiding her closer to where she needed to be. She was now making her way through a small Allie hidden by shadow. The feeling told her to stay hidden, the shadows were her friend. No one could find her in the shadows; no one could hurt her when the shadows hid her. Despite the assurance of the mysterious feeling, she still held fear of the shadows. Especially the patches that were almost completely devoid of light. Whenever she stared into the darkness for too long, she became increasingly afraid. It felt like the darkness was a deep and bottomless void, and it was trying to pull her in.

She shook herself. She could begin to here sound further down the alley. It was a strong pulsing beet that made her feel energetic and excited, calling to her, leading her on.

When she reached the end of the alley, careful to stay in the shadows, she saw a building lit with bright red and blue neon lights that flashed, strobed, and blinked in complicated patterns. This building was the source of the rhythmic sound that had drawn her in. She could feel the low thumping base in her chest, almost feeling as if it were beating in time with her hart. She beamed with child like glee. She liked this sound, it made her feel happy. Another other walked out of the door, and as the door was open she could hear more others. They sounded happy and energetic. The energy and feelings of joy emanating from the building called to her. She found it difficult to stay in the shadows, and in no time she ignored the desperate warnings of the guiding feeling in the back of her mind, and started toward the building. Before she had even made it half way to the door a pair of strong callused hands came around from behind, clamping down over her mouth and rapping around her waist, trapping her arms and pulling her back. Surprised, she struggled, but her arms were locked at her sides. Still struggling, she found herself throne up against the wall of the alley she had just emerged from. She could see the outlines of five others, all mail. The one who was holding her made some noises.

"Looks like we got lucky today boys. We got ourselves some good looken meet." He turned to the furthest other. "Rolim, get the light; let's get a look at her." The woman didn't like the sounds these others made. They sounded vary unfriendly. She struggled harder as alight shown on her, making the others appear to be dark shadows. There was a whistling sound from one of the others.

"She's pretty alright. Freaky eyes though. How much you think we'll be able to make on her?"

"Nothing if we can't get the port authority to overlook our cargo." Another voice said.

"Don't worry about it." The first voice said. "I've got the port authorities taken care of. Give me the neural restraint collar. This one seems lively. We don't want her making a fuss." She saw a hand reaching toward her with a collar. For some reason the sight of the collar awoke feelings of anger and hatred deep down in the darkest recesses of her being. She stopped struggling as the anger took hold, her breathing and hart slowing, and mind going com. With impossible speed, she lashed out with a kick to the groin of the man holding her, and raked her nails across his face as His grip fell away. He dropped to the ground in agony, a hand clutching at both his face and groin. Quickly the others moved to grab her. She side stepped one man who charged at her, allowing him to crash face first into the wall with a thud. Ducking the grasp of another, she came back up with a short chopping motion of her right arm, smashing into another mans throat. She ignored the crunching sound and gasps as she spun to face yet another, catching his fist on her arm and lashing out with a strike of her own that sent the man staggering. She felt a tug as a man grabbed at her from behind, missing and grabbing hold of her shirt. He pulled in an attempt to bring her within arms reach, but the shirt tore and fell away from her body. Paying no mind to the fact that she was now topless, she turned her attention back to the man who stupidly stared at the Torne shirt in his hand. She let loose with a powerful strike; cracking bones in the man's face and making her hand go num. Before she could continue her savage onslaught, a bolt of blue energy struck her. Her mussels slackened and she staggered forward. Still in a blind rage, she spun and blindly lunged at the attacker, only to be struck by another bolt of blue energy. This time her mussels became liquid. Her body, still holding the momentum of the last lunge, and now with no way to stop, crashed into the leader, who she had first taken down, sending them both to the ground. Desperate, she through all her strength into strangling the man, but her hands could only feebly grasp at his throat. Shoving her off him, he got to his knees, took aim and fired. This time, lacking anything more to put into the struggle, her mind descended into a dreamlike haze.

The leader lowered his stun blaster, still on his knees and with blood running down his face from the woman's nails. He coughed.

"The dam schutta is a fighter. Everyone ok?"

"I think Owin's dead. The kriffing schutta crushed his windpipe. It looks like Rolim will be joining him soon if we don't get him to a hospital fast." The leader climbed to his feet.

"Forget Owin. Give Rolim a shot of Kolto. It'll have to do until we can get him to a doctor. Someone give me a hand with the schutta. It took three hits to stun her, I don't want to take bets that she'll stay down until she's in restraints." The man grabbed the woman's arm to bind her wrists when something caught his eye on her forearm. He froze in surprise. "Boys. We just made a fortune. The dam schutta is a kriffing Mando." As soon as he spoke the two remaining men were at his side. "Look at that." He turned her arm into the light so they could see the clan marking. "You know how much some people would pay to get their hands on a Mando? Especially on the outer rim. They're a lot of people looking to get even with them for what they did."

"Hell boss, I've got some ideas of how to get even." the man to his left said with a smirk.

"No one touches her. She just became too valuable to become damaged goods. Finish helping Rolim; we'll fix him up at the ship. Someone get me that restraint collar. I don't want her waking up on us."

Caton Maru staggered out of the cantina and promptly collided into a wall. After gods new how many drinks the world seemed like it would never stop moving. He slid into a sitting position, his back against the wall and tried, unsuccessfully, to stop his head from spinning. If he knew how much alcohol an Aqualish could put away before getting drunk, he never would have started playing pazock with one. He had started the night with a simple plan. Come in, pick a likely mark, start a friendly game of pazock while continuing to buy his opponent an unending round of drinks until he became sloppy and stupid, and then take him for all he was worth. It all went as well as could be expected until it came to the unending round of drinks. His mark wasn't as stupid as he would have liked, and Caton had found it necessary to match the Aqualish drink for drink. No problem, this wasn't Caton's first time. He had continued his plan, all the while injecting stims under the table when he felt himself start to go dull. The reel problem came when he ran out of stims, around the 15 or 20th glass of Tarisian ale, He couldn't really remember, didn't care either. The part that really irked him, was that the Aqualish didn't have the common courtesy to look even the slightest bit inebriated. He had finally struck it rich when the Aqualish, still showing no sines of impairment, passed out face first on the table. Caton, who had been fearing he would have to call it quits due to a lack of funds and near lack of good judgment, thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen as he took all the credits, both on the table and in the pockets of his rather sleepy opponent.

Feeling better, which was to say that it felt like a Wookiee was beating his head like a drum, opposed to having a herd of Bantha on a mad rampage inside his skull, Caton pulled himself to his feet. He had to get back to his ship before he passed out like his Aqualish benefactor. As he walk/ stumbled in the general direction of the spaceport, something caught his attention. In an Allie across the street from the cantina he saw a group of thugs attacking what looked to be a lone woman. As he drew nearer, he revised his previous conclusion. It was a lone woman massacring a group of thugs. Correction, a very beautiful, topless woman. He was brought out of his trance by a flash of blue, quickly followed up by another. By time Caton realized that one of the men had used a stun blaster, he saw the man get to his knees and shoot the woman a third time. The men started moving around, checking their wounded and securing the woman. All the while apparently oblivious to Caton's presence. He knew the men were slavers. Vary stupid slavers, if they were on a planet that didn't allow slavery. Then again, it was a well known secret that there were occasionally slavers in the less reputable areas of Corisontt. Of course this was never talked about in public, lest it shatter people's image of the capital of the Republic, beacon of freedom for all. He didn't like slavers. On the other hand, this had nothing to do with him. If he knew what was good for him he wouldn't get involved. Besides, the woman could fight. She'd probably free herself in no time. If that wasn't enough, he was hammered, and obviously in no shape to go playing Jedi Knight in shining armor. The smart thing to do would be to turn around, continue to his ship, and forget he saw a thing. He squeezed off around from each of his blaster pistils dropping a man instantly. He didn't have a reputation for doing the smart thing when he should. Especially not when any combination of alcohol, women, or slavers was involved. A third man stood up from near the woman drawing a blaster. Caton squeezed off another three shots, all of which when wide. The world was starting to spin again, and he didn't want to hit the woman on the ground. Just then Caton's legs decided to lose balance, dropping him on his ass and saving his life as a bolt passed through where his head should have been. Feeling that his chances of accidentally hitting the woman while firing at an upward angle were greatly decreased, Caton opened up with a stream of blaster bolts. He didn't care where he hit the man, so long as he did. He finally stopped firing when the man when down, his front chard beyond recognition.

Caton let out a sigh of relief and lowered his blasters, swearing to himself under his breath. His headache had just gotten worse. If it could be any sine of things to come, then the hangover was going to be just heavenly tomorrow. Holstering his weapons', he got to his feet, and made his way over to the woman on the ground, forcing the world to stay still the whole way. He lifted the light left by the slavers to get a better look at the woman and stopped. She was a vision of beauty if he had ever seen one. She stood just slightly taller than him at five foot ten, with long dark brown hair. Her face was narrow and angular. Her body was toned and well muscled, with curves in all the right places. Her features made her look truly elegant, but he could make out lines made by tension. Whoever she was, she had obviously seen a lot to leave such lines of worry in her face. He searched around on the ground for a bit before finding her Torne shirt. It was too badly damaged to actually be worn, but it would at least allow her to keep a degree of modesty. Taking a brief look at her chest once more… Just a brief one… To see if she had any wounds… Ok so it wasn't just to see if she had any wounds. He was a man after all. A vary inebriated man. he began draping it over her when he noticed something on her right forearm. Turning her arm into the light he dropped it as if he had been scolded. She had a fracking clan marking. He hadn't fought in the Mando wars, but he knew plenty of people who had, and he knew what a clan marking looked like. Caton sat back on his heels

"Caton old buddy. What The Hell Have You Got Yourself Into Now?" On one hand the galaxy was short a couple of slavers, always a good thing. On another hand he had just saved a Mandiloriean who would probably rip his head off when she woke up and found him still there. He suppressed a shutter on thinking what she would do if she caught him ogling her breasts. On yet another hand, if he left her here and she didn't wake up soon, she was likely to find herself in a similar situation as she was just in, and this time she wouldn't be awake to go down fighting.

Caton made up his mind. He went to the five bodies and liberated there credits before coming back to the woman's still form. He stared down, his eyes running over the woman's face.

"You know, if I was sensible, I would leave you here. If I was vengeful, I'd blast you for what your people did and not give it a second thought. Hell, I could probably do that last one in front of the authorities with their blessing. The thing is, I'm neither of these. Sensible or vengeful I mean. I just want you to know this so when you wake up, you know what I could have done but didn't. Maybe that'll be enough to dissuade you from killing me. I don't know." Caton shook his head. "First you're saving Mandilorieans, now you're talking to women who can't here you. What's next? Maybe you should go see if there is a Sith lorde that needs saving nearby." He shook his head again. "Just great." Sighing, he bent down to pick the woman up. His last memories were of the sound of a blaster and a flash of blue before darkness claimed his mind.

One Hour Previous

Jedi masters Vrook and Vander stood watching the holo footage of Revan's escape. Vrook spoke in his normally dry voice without taking his eyes from the woman pouncing on the protocol droid.

"I knew that the demise of the dark lord was too good to be true. We should have carried out her sentence sooner. If we had, this could probably have been avoided. Now as it stands, we have Malak wasting no time in laying claim to Revans throne, and Revan still alive. Likely plotting her revenge as we speak." The diminutive master Vander said nothing for a time. Despite Vrooks dry, almost taciturn way of speaking, he could hear the suppressed frustration.

"Perhaps, but on both counts I fear you are wrong. The Force is still strong around her. I feel that Revan has a part to play in events still to come. As for Malak. If our intelligence is to believed, he will be busy cleansing the Sith ranks of those who were loyal to Revan, and putting down others who seek to take her throne as he has. It will be a while yet before the Sith are organized enough to begin advancing. Whatever the case may be, we can do nothing but wait and see." Vrook let out a consenting grunt.

"You may be right. At any rate, it is too late to run after her. By now, she could be anywhere on the planet. If she is indeed still on the planet. Padowone Bastila may shed some light on things when she is recovered from her ordeal."

"I sense that the bond between bastila and Revan is still intact. I am afraid their destinies are greatly entwined. The Force clearly has set events in motion, toward a destination we do not know. For now we can only wait and watch events as they unfold.

A/N: I've had this going round in my head for years now, and finally decided to see if I could make it work. Feedback is appreciated. Feel free to flame or praise, as the mood takes you.


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed. I went through the previous chapter and made corrections where I saw them. This chapter is out a little before I would like, but real life has taken hold when I wasn't expecting, and I figured I would get it out while I could. I don't know when the next one will be out, so stay with me.

Chapter 1.

The first rays of sunlight broke over the horizon of the mega city that was Taris, heralding the coming of the sun and the dawning of another day. The top most of the towering spires of the city shone a burnished gold as they reflected the morning rays from their polished Durasteel and Permacrete skins. The gleaming megaliths stood as permanent, unyielding testaments to the glory and magnificence of the city and those who dwelled there in.

A darkly clad, solitary woman stood on a small ledge, barely wide enough to be used as a perch, looking out over the city in the morning light. As the sun rose further in the sky her eyes seemed to glow as the silver mettle of her ocular implants reflected the light in a blinding glair. She stood dressed in tight fitting black combat boots, pants, white sleeveless shirt, and a black nerf hide jacket. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a thick braid that fell down her back, ending at her waste.

She loved to watch the sun rise and set. It was just about the only redeeming quality she could find after three weeks of trudging from day to day on this miserable little world. Three weeks on this planet, and already she had seen the same intolerance, corruption, and all around rot she had come to expect of what was called "civilized society". It was only at times like this, when the sun was just rising, that you could truly see the potential. It was only now when you could see what it could be like. A glorious city, a monument to the greatness of its builders. Then the sun would fully rise and the spell would be broken. When faced with the full force of the revealing light, it wasn't hard to see past the crumbling gilt work to the rotten core beneath. In the light all one need do was walk around to see that the city was not so glorious. It was a monument to the vanity and pried of a few who thought themselves great. It was a pit where the lives of sentience were made to be a living hell for no other reason than they weren't human, or they didn't have enough money. It was the gilded hell hole that she found herself stuck in. More so the longer she stayed.

Tracinya was jolted from her reverie by an incessant beeping coming from her chronometer informing her that it was time to get to work. She quickly sat down, legs dangling over the edge, unslung the black bag holding her modified blaster rifle, and began to unpack it. There was little work to actually be done. She unpacked the rifle and then set about attaching a barrel extension and a high power scope to increase range and accuracy. Her quick movements as she readied the rifle were smooth and precise, possessing a speed and economy that could only be borne of long practice and familiarity. Once her adjustments were complete, she swung the rifle into position, angled down toward the walkway far below, and sighted through the scope. Her ocular implants could boost her vision beyond the limits of most sentience, but making a shot from over a hundred and fifty levels up, without further aid, was well outside her limits. From this height, she could barely make out the small dots that were people going about their everyday lives, and she wanted to hit one specific dot among that teeming throng of life.

As she looked through the powerful scope, the world below leaped into focus. She smoothly moved her focus to the ground level entrance of the building directly across from hers and waited for her target to come to her. Beyond her targets usual schedule and face, shown to her in a holo, she knew nothing. She preferred it this way. She knew the people who she was forced to work for were scum and the targets she was told to kill were almost definitely innocent, a fact that disgusted her. Despite this fact, she still did it. She had to eat after all. Competing in the dueling ring paid well, but not well enough to support her, save up enough to perches passage off this oppressive world, and most importantly pay off her debt to the Exchange. That last one surprised her as much as made her want to find a corner and throw up. Caton had always steered clear of any work that the Exchange had its hooks in, something that was easier said than done when you were a smuggler. More often than not it meant running on a tight budget when you had to pass up the higher paying Exchange jobs for independent work. Despite this, Caton held firm in his no Exchange policy. A sharp pang of self loathing hit her as she thought of what he would say if he saw what she was doing, what she had been doing, and what she would most likely continue doing. She crushed that line of thought and let the familiar walls of ice claim her, numbing the pain. Always numbing, but never fully deadening it. It didn't matter what he would say now.

No matter how much it may sicken her, killing was what she was good at, and it kept her alive. Besides, for the short time she could remember, she had been told that she was a monster, guilty of crimes that were only dwarfed by that of the Sith. If true, it was only right that she started to act like the monster they all said she was.

In the beginning, she had tried to get a decent job as a mechanic from one of Caton's friends. It actually worked out pretty good, until the sith confiscated all her ships, droids, and bikes. After that, business slowed to the point that she was forced to let Tracinya go. No matter how good she was, no one else could or wanted to higher her. Before she knew it she had run up quite a hefty debt that she had no way of paying off. One thing led to another, and she found herself sitting on a ledge getting ready to further stain her hands with the blood of yet another innocent. She had found early on that it helped to not know anything about the person she was killing. That way she could pretend the person actually had it coming for some wrong they most likely weren't guilty of.

A second beeping from her chronometer alerted her that the target was due to make an appearance any minute.

She saw her target leave the building. He was an elderly man with thinning white hair, dressed in a standard red tunic and tan pants and walked with a limp. Quickly she brought the crosshairs to rest right between his eyes and hesitated. His face… His face showed the crow's feet from a joyful life. The weathered skin of a man who worked to provide for his family. His face showed the stress lines of a man burdened by the worries of the world. His face showed a man who had lived, loved, struggled, and in the end knew he had failed. Despite this, his deep brown eyes held a kind warmth that she seldom saw in people. Briefly an image flashed before her eyes. A kindly grandfather played with two young children in a sparsely furnished apartment. As he played with his grandchildren, the worries of the world gnawed away at him from the inside. He was not a wealthy man and he hadn't the funds necessary to care for his grandchildren when their parents died. He had had to borrow money to get an apartment big enough for the three of them and to pay for schooling. He was determined that the children wouldn't be nobodies like he was. They would get the best education he could give them and they would go far in life. He had promised his daughter that much. Now it was coming time to pay his debts and he didn't have the money.

She shook herself, pushing the vision to the back of her mind. She didn't know what the vision was, but she often had them when she was fulfilling a contract and she didn't know how, but they were always true, revealing a part of her soon to be victims' life. She once again focused on the target. He wasn't human, wasn't a man. He was the target she had to eliminate. She cursed her moment of hesitation. In that second she had failed to take the shot, he had merged into the crowd and she couldn't get a clear shot. She followed his path through the crowd looking for an opening and then it came to her. Quickly, so as not to lose her opportunity she ejected the power regulator from the rifle's power pack, brought the crosshairs to bear on the head of a Sith trooper just ahead of the target. She had no love of the Sith and would feel no sadness at his death. She waited for the target to draw up beside the Sith trooper and fired.

The rifle let out a thought shattering scream of power as the entire charge of the power pack was suddenly unleashed, the force of the recoil nearly crushing Cyar'ika's shoulder, as the single bolt of white hot energy came into contact with the helmet of the Sith trooper. In an instant both the head of the trooper and the old man were vaporized, their bodies dropping to the ground, blackened stumps where the necks had once been.

Oblivious to the mass panic of the crowd below her, Tracinya smoothly lowered the rifle and began to disassemble it with the same fluid motions she had used when she had first assembled it. Externally, she was coldly efficient, her face betraying nothing of the feelings beneath the surface. Internally, she was a mass of hatred and self loathing. She could never get used to killing innocents. Men and women with families, who's only problem was that they had crossed the wrong people. She had no problem killing the few gang members who had foolishly attacked her in the lower city. She didn't even have a problem when she accidentally killed Dead Eye Duncan in the ring. In fact, when she had faced them, she had enjoyed it. Not so much the killing, but the challenge of facing another, knowing that one wrong step, failed parry, or stray bolt could be her last and deal out the justice she deserved. All of them were met in combat, with the playing field equal or tipped slightly in their favor. They all could fight back, and they knew the consequences, or at least they should have. Her targets were not met in combat, the playing field was nowhere near equal, and the majority of them had probably only seen a blaster used in holo films. IN short, there was no honor in what she did and when the memories she had were few and seldom happy, her honor actually meant something to her.

The rifle fully disassembled and packed, Tracinya abruptly stood, swung the bag over her shoulder, suppressing a wince of pain from the bruise left by the rifle's recoil, and turned to walk down the ledge. She approached a Transparisteel window in which she had previously cut a hole to gain access to the ledge. She glanced back and down far below where people were still panicking. She vary well may be a monster for the suffering that she inflicted on others, but just maybe she could see to it that no one else suffered who didn't absolutely have to. With that last thought, she turned and disappeared through the window.

She was huddled in a corner in complete darkness, the mettle of the walls and floor of her cell ice on her bear skin. The darkness was too much. She hated the darkness and they knew it. They knew it and yet they still left her in the dark. They would turn off her eyes and leave her alone in the cold and horrible horrible darkness. This darkness wasn't the same as being in a dark room, only seeing black. No, to see black would be a comfort to her, to see anything would be a comfort. This darkness was the total absence of sight. No light, no black, no nothing. It frightened her to be in this darkness, but it terrified her to be left alone like this. She could feel it. Feel it pulling at her. Feel its hunger, coming for her like a hungry predator. Feel the chill of its nearness burn her to her bones and deeper. It was always waiting for her when they turned off her eyes and it was worse when she was alone.

She knew why they left her alone in the darkness. She…She didn't mean to…It was an accident. She didn't mean to hurt the man. He was hurting her like they always did and the numbing ice wouldn't come and take away the pain and she got angry and the man was hurting her he was calling her mean things and accusing her of things she didn't do and she was so angry and tired of being hurt so she hurt him back. She didn't mean to do it.

She began to rock back and forth trying to take her mind off the darkness. She was afraid it would hurt her again. She didn't remember it ever hurting her, but she knew that it had. She knew that it had hurt her and it was unlike any pain she had ever felt before. Even worse then when the other men and women would come hurt her for doing things she didn't do. They would hurt her for killing someone close to them, or destroying a planet, or just for existing.

She stopped rocking when she noticed herself whispering, "I'm sorry…I'm sorry…I'm sorry…" Over and over. She raised her face and screamed. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do it! It was an accident! Please! Take away the darkness!" Lowering her face she began to sob uncontrollably, renewing her rocking, all the while she could feel the darkness encroaching on her sanity.

She started when she heard the Dore to her cell squeak open on its hinges and the sound of heavy boots enter the room. Desperately, she scurried on hands and knees from her corner to the sounds of the boots. Finding a leg she latched on as if it were her only life line to sanity. She wasn't alone. There was another person with her. They would keep the darkness away. She looked up at the newcomer tears still running down her face.

"I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. It was all my fault. I di…I didn't mean to do it. I…I promise I'll never do it again. Just…Pleas take away the darkness. Pleas…I don't like the darkness. Make it go away." She could feel the man bend down gently brushing a callused hand across her face, wiping away the tears. He rested a finger across her lips silencing any further pleas. She felt something brush up against her left hip.

"You really hurt Talvin."

"I didn't mean to. It…"

"Was an accident. I know, but that doesn't change the fact that you hurt him. He might even die." Deep inside, part of her rejoiced to have hurt him that bad. Maybe he'd stop hurting her now. "You know the rules. You aren't to hurt any of the clients. Not for any reason." She felt the hand brush her hip again moving further down.

"But I didn't mean to do it. I promise, it won't happen again."

"I know." The callused hand brushed her cheek, the other hand moving further down her pocket. "That's why I…"

Tracinya jerked her head off the table, at the same time she felt a sharp pain glance across her leg. Dropping her left hand down low, she drew her boot knife, coming up with blinding speed, she cot the would-be thief's arm and pinned his hand to the table with the knife. The thief, an older human man she now noticed, screeched in pain and tried to jerk his hand back before he found that it simply caused more pain. She was still a little groggy from…What was she doing? She cast a glimpse over the table as her surroundings came flooding in. She was in Javiears Cantina and if the number of empty glasses littering her table were anything to go on, she had just drank enough to put a Bantha down with a case of terminal alcohol poisoning.

Her gaze drifted back to the would-be thief trying to dislodge the knife. With great care she reached over and wiggled the blade. The man let out a snarl, reaching for a knife glistening red with blood that lay on the ground at Tracinya's feet with his remaining hand. Tracinya delivered a sharp kick to the man's gut, sending him back with a whimper, as the blade pinning his hand tore free. Casually, she drew her blaster and took aim.

"You are obviously no thief. No one gets in Javiears with a weapon who isn't supposed to have one. You don't have the look of a fighter about you witch means you obviously when to a lot of trouble to get one in here. Explain yourself. Quickly. So Javiear won't be cleaning what's left of you off the Flore of his fine establishment." The man cradled his injured hand against his chest. His brown eyes held nothing but hatred for her.

"Go ahead." The man spat through clenched teeth. "You've taken everything else. What's my life on top of it?" Tracinya squinted, something pulling at her alcohol addled mind.

"Do I know you?" The man rasped out a bitter laugh.

"You took my wife and daughter for the Exchange. They said it was to cover the remainder of my debts. I only owed 200 credits. Another day and they'd of had them." Tracinya remembered now. The frightened young woman hugging her mother as she cut through the locked door. The mothers hollow stare. Hating her, but consigned to her fate. Their faces were the reason she had come here tonight to drink herself into a stupor. They were to be sold as slaves. The money would more than cover the debt the man had, but Davick was convinced he needed to make an example of anyone who was behind on their payments. Especially now that the Sith were cracking down on his other operations. Her face went hard, her emotions cold, as she remembered the events of just three hours ago. What the men she had turned the woman over to had done. What she had stood by and let them do. The men she worked for weren't the kind you showed weakness to, and her interference would have been seen as weakness.

The man opened his mouth to speak, but Tracinya cut him off with a razed hand. She cast a glance around the room, before lowering her blaster. She lowered her voice. "Ask the Beks about your daughter." The man's eyes lit up, and he moved to speak. "Forget about your wife. She's dead." Strictly speaking a lie, but given the state the woman was in when Tracinya last saw her, she might as well have been. She was broken. Some wounds weren't physical, couldn't be seen, but were fatal all the same. She had done what she could in hiding the daughter, but she couldn't do anything for the mother.

The light in the man's eyes seemed to dim. Tracinya looked away to give the man what privacy she could in his grief. She wanted to tell him how sorry she was, but couldn't. It wouldn't help. He already saw her as a monster. He was right. She settled on tossing several credit chips on the table for the drinks, rose shakily to her feet and left.

Carth Onasi threw himself back around a corner, just in time as a blast of intense heat buffeted him from a grenade detonating just feet from where he had been taking cover. The Sith troopers had finally overrun the bridge, and were now chasing him through the maze of corridors to the escape pods. The spire was lost. The entire dam sixth fleet was lost. He and Trask were the only two crew members still aboard. They had stayed to slow the Sith advance, and insure Bastila wasn't captured before she got to the pods. Not that it probably mattered any more. If she wasn't captured on board, the Sith would find her planet side. The attempt at reclaiming Taris from sith control had failed. Even with Bastila, the Sith fleet was just two massive. He still didn't understand where the Sith were getting all the ships. Malak's Sith civil war had cost them much. They shouldn't have had anything near this many.

Carth took cover at another intersection as trask worked at the door controls. Through this door and it was a straight shot to the escape pods. Carth's attention was grabbed from covering the corridor for approaching Sith by Trask Running to another door. "Ensign. What are you doing? Get back on the door now!"

"Just a second sir. I hear something over here. It may be more survivors." Carth felt a chill go up his spine. He had checked the ships systems before they abandoned the bridge. There weren't any more crew aboard.

"NO! Wait!" The door slid open to reveal a Dark Jedi at the end of the corridor, red light saber in hand. Years of conditioning kicked in as without thinking his blasters were already trained and firing as fast as he could squeeze. In the back of his mind he knew it didn't matter, they were both dead, he failed again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Carth saw Trask drop his blaster and draw a vibroblad before rushing the Dark Jedi. As he passed through the door the door panel was struck by a stray bolt the Dark Jedi had reflected back at him. The door slid shut and went into emergency fire containment procedures, locking and erecting a force shield. Carth slumped against the wall. He knew Trask was dead. He should have kept a better eye on him. Stopped him. Done... Something.

He looked up at the sound of boots on deck plating advancing down the corridor he had come from. Carth pulled himself together. No time. He had to keep going. Get to Bastila before the Sith. Had to get her back to command or the Republic was lost. He would do as he always did. He would do his duty. He would complete his mission.

Tracinya staggered off the elevator and onto the upper city walkway. From here it wasn't more than a few blocks to her apartment. However, in her current condition that might be too far. Her right leg didn't seem to want to work, not that her left was much better, and her mind seemed abnormally sluggish. She stopped when she noticed the people around her. They were all quiet, in and of itself out of the ordinary. Odder still, they were all looking at the sky with a mixture of looks, ranging from fascination, to terror. When Tracinya followed their gazes up, her first thought was of the time. It was night. Her binge trip to Javiears and resulting confrontation had made her late in getting home. She began staggering homeward even faster. When her Braine finally caught up to what her eyes had seen she did a double take.

Small bolts of light flickered across the sky, punctuated by the occasional lightning like flash. These lights weren't lightning. Someone was fighting above the planet. The Sith were obviously one side, but who was attacking. Surely the Republic wasn't foolish enough to attack here. According to the news streams, the Sith had eight fleets in system. It would be a disaster. Tracinya noticed clusters of comets falling towards the city. These would be the escape pods from destroyed ships. Tracinya squinted, using her vision to enhance the night sky, looking for more pods. For a battle so large, there should be more escape pods than what she was seeing.

Quickly descending, the few pods she could see began to grow large. Their downward hurtle building to a high pitched scream. People finally began to panic, running for cover. In her current condition, it wasn't likely she'd be able to make it to cover herself. At any rate, given the approaches the pods closest to her were following, they would miss the upper city. Likely they would end up in the lower city. Or if the pilots were truly unlucky, the Under City. She found her eyes drawn to one pod in particular. Something about the pod drew her to it. It was the center of a group of maybe ten other pods. They were traveling close together. Almost as if they were escorting it down. It was then that she saw the Sith fighters following behind, picking off straggling pods. She now understood the lack of more escape pods. As she watched, pods in the tight nit cluster began to intentionally adjust their descents into the path of incoming fire meant for the center most pod. She continued to watch as the formations numbers dwindled. Slowly, something drew her in. She almost felt as if she herself were in the pod. Something familiar. She could feel fear… Distress… Barely reined in. images began to flicker past her eyes. A pretty dark haired woman, a Jedi. Her bright yellow blade crashed against crimson in a blur of complex forms. Then hands at controls. The instrument bored blinking a solid red. Warning alarms blaring. The uncomfortable feel of the heat, and oddly present smell of burnt ozone of reentry. A sharp jarring and then her head cracked against something.

Tracinya was back in her own body. She watched as the fall of the pod that had drawn her attention became erratic. She watched as it glanced off a near buy spire, tearing a gash in the Permacrete side, before continuing down to the Lower City.

She felt at her head. It had felt so real. She would have sworn she was in the Pod… Had smacked her head, but there was no injury. Just the memory of sharp shooting pane, and a massive headache.

Tracinya looked up again at the sound of another falling pod. This one was coming down much faster, closely pursued by three fighters. She watched as the pod weaved between the streams of fire in maneuvers not meant to be made by an escape pod. Despite the pilot's obvious skill, it was still an escape pod, and one of the fighters finally succeeded in delivering a hit to the pods primary stabilizers. The pod instantly reeled out of control. The fighters broke off pursuit, the pods descent now far too erratic, and the occupants' death assured.

One of the Republic escape pods had crashed outside her apartment complex. Tracinya had followed a blood trail to just outside her level before it faded too much for her to track. She felt terror constricting her hart. She had to get home. Had to make sure everything was alright. Make sure they were safe.

Tracinya drug herself along the wall of the habitat ring, making her way to her apartment. Her right leg wouldn't support her wait and kept slipping in her boot. Her circumstances weren't helped any more by the dam cold. There was probably something wrong with the building's dam environmental controls again. She would have to have more words with Drana, the manager of this complex. Explain to her that she was tired of her putting off repairs because aliens lived in the building. Yah. Make sure she understood that if it continued, she might have to bring Drana's Failure to make the last four weeks of payments to the Exchange to Davick's attention. Heh. Make sure she understood how much it would sadden her to have to meet with Drana in a Professional capacity.

Tracinya blinked. She had made it to her door and had been standing in front of it for some time. She slapped her palm on the scanner pad to her door. The lock chimed in acceptance of her palm print. The lock clicked. The door slid open. Tracinya stared down the unwavering barrel of a heavily modified Republic issue blaster. Her hart seized in her chest. She was too late. Before her vision faded and the cold took her, she saw orange and herd two voices call out her name.

A/N: reviews appreciated. Flame or praise, as the mood takes you.


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